


No More Mistakes.

by Ayngelcat



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:34:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet, under pressure as a senior medic at Kaon general Hospital in the traumatic pre-war climate, is persuaded to seek assistance in the diagnosis and treatment of a dying young mech (unknown character).</p><p>No warnings. To do with my need to write another 'medical story' involving Hook and First Aid - this time throwing in some insight on Ratchet and Wheeljack's situation in the 'early days.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	No More Mistakes.

Wheeljack regarded the young mech on the medberth with a puzzled expression. Not a scratch on him or visible defect, his face reposed in the peace of normal recharge, his intakes sighing softly. The sound blended with that of his creator- femme’s weeping , which drifted in from the visitors area.

Behind the mech, a series of steady beeps from the surrounding machines and spiking lines on their screens showed the youngster’s systems to be in perfect working order. Only one did not: the spark trace showed a steadily decreasing output, heading slowly but inevitably towards ‘critical’ – and inevitable cessation of functioning.

Ratchet shook his head in exasperation. “I’ve looked at everything, Jack!" he sighed. "He’s just ‘fading.’ And I’m darned if I can work it out!”

Wheeljack thought for a moment. “Virus?” he suggested. “Could be one of those slow, hard to detect infiltrating ones which attacks the core functions and spreads to the spark?”

Ratchet sighed. “I thought the same myself. But tests for all strains were negative. Then I thought maybe a program glitch – so I jacked in and checked for abnormalities in spark transfer and relay systems, extraneous circuitry; all that kind of thing. Nothing!”

“I thought then that there must be some kinda creational defect,” he went on, “but it ain’t that either …” he looked at the spark output trace and let out a frustrated sigh. “It ain’t nothin’ I can find any cause for or have ever seen before.”

Wheeljack nodded. There was no doubt in his processor about how thorough his best friend would have been. And if Ratchet couldn’t find a cause for this, he was hard pushed to suggest something himself.

“I want _you_ to open him up and take a look, Jack!”

Well, he might have known it was something like that.

Wheeljack felt Ratchet’s desperation, what had happened after the explosion at the blocks; the deaths, the blame. “There will be no more mistakes!” the Administrator had said, her cold optics glaring in admonishment. “Any further unnecessary deaths and I will have no hesitation in reconsidering certain appointments …”

And even though the unfairness was staggering, the sheer volume of casualties that day having rendered Ratchet's success in every instance a near impossibility – Wheeljack knew that the Administrator was a femme of her word. And also that to lose his licence as a healer would destroy his best friend.

But a more novel suggestion might be needed here. One Wheeljack steeled himself in suggesting, knowing the inevitable response.

More distraught sounds came from outside. “I can do that, Ratch,” Wheeljack said slowly. “I can look inside, and I tell you – as an engineer - whether everything’s connected as it should be and all systems are functioning. But Ratch, diagnostics already showed that's all OK. Opening him up – it’s just a trauma for that femme out there. It won’t change anything.”

Wheeljack placed an arm urgently around his friend’s shoulders. “We need to do something different,” He hesitated. “I suggest you get Hook to take a look.”

The effect was immediate. Ratchet darkened, glowering at his old friend. “And why in the name of Primus would I do that?” he growled.

“Because he has a remarkable knack of picking up what others may have missed …"

“Now I’m not saying you missed anything Ratch!” he said quickly as Ratchet’s expression turned furious.

  
…………………………….

  
“What’s he going to see that you can’t?” Ratchet growled.

“He’s more techno-medical than me,” Wheeljack said, knowing full well that Ratchet knew at least part the answer to this. “He uses- some rather novel methods of investigation – and treatment. And sparks themselves have been his particular focus of attention of late, the structural intricacies of which I am similarly in the dark.”

“Yeah!” Ratchet exploded. “You mean _unethical_ methods. I know the kinds of things he does, Jack! _Especially_ with sparks!”

“He doesn’t give a pit about the patient,” he went on darkly. “Only whether getting some result advances his knowledge and prestige!” he regarded Wheeljack sternly. “I’ve prided myself on my ethics, Jack. And that ain’t gonna change!”

Wheeljack agreed – to an extent. But he could not help wondering how much was genuine disapproval – and how much was plain old jealousy. The Administrator, charmed by the green medic’s smooth tone and convincing arguments, had given Hook mandates for all kinds of novel procedures including ‘intra spark technique development.’ Anything the like of which Ratchet had been stringently denied.  
Not that Ratchet would ever have admitted to secretly wanting such an opportunity.

“I prefer to describe Hook as ‘controversial,' myself,” Wheeljack said. “You gotta admit he does often get results …” he hesitated, “He’s been trying out – some new techniques. Certain methods of uh - spark stimulation.”

At that, Ratchet simmered again. “Oh I’ve heard all about that too!” he thundered. “He takes them apart and puts them back together; uses electro-bolstering, and Primus knows what else! I It’s fatal in thirty three per cent of cases!”

“You can’t tell me that’s ‘getting results!” he went on bitterly. “And I get hauled over the pit for not bein’ able to be supermech when half the city blows up in my face, while him – he gets away with that! It’s just a game to him and that joke of an Administrator!”

But Wheeljack persisted. “Hook has a new intern, by name of First Aid,” he said. “This mech is from Iacon. He has a background in psychiatry. He’s been studying the relationship between spark emotion and the physical body and has come up with quite novel suggestions."

Ratchet grunted. “I heard of him,” he said. “Has it in mind to improve himself on the techno surgical side. “ He looked at Wheeljack, “Well its obvious why he chose on internship with that maniac! Oil slicks from the same well!”

Wheeljack wondered again about the jealousy issue. Ratchet would remember First Aid’s appointment very well – in fact there’d been some outrage when First Aid chose the internship with Hook and not Ratchet. He decided he should maybe bring it up again at a later time. For now, he wasn’t giving up.

“The point is, he and Hook between them – they _are_ achieving some interesting results,” he said. “First Aid maintains that physical manipulation can be complimented with psychological spark therapy in cases of undiagnosed malfunction. He maintains that non physical spark trauma - an effect from the environment alone - is a ‘silent predator’ in Kaon’s current climate; that sometimes ….” he looked at the young mech on the berth, “it can even be fatal.”

When Ratchet hunched his shoulders and snorted, Wheeljack went on: “First Aid may be under Hook’s direction but believe me he’s very ethical. It’s said that he’s putting a brake on things, narrowing down some of Hook’s ‘less orthodox’ experimentations. Like an opposite force, balancing things out. I think you should give them both a go.”

Ratchet looked as though he might be prepared to agree. But before he could say anything, the door opened and a beige and white paramedic emerged, beside him the trembling femme. "I'm sorry - I couldn't stop her!" the para tried to explain.

Ratchet was suddenly acutely aware of the beeping machines, the diminishing trace on the spark output monitor, the femme's anguished gaze upon her creation. He turned away. //I can’t afford any more mistakes, Jack!// he whispered.

//Exactly!// Wheeljack said gently. //And if you do nothing, this mech is dead anyway.//

 _And if you pass him to Hook and he dies, Hook will get away with it, whereas you will not,_ he thought. He did not say this, but he sensed, through his closeness to the medic, that Ratchet ‘caught on.’

There was a silence. Ratchet felt a hand on his arm, and turned to meet the femme’s gaze. “Can you do anything?” she whispered. “I heard you’re the best there is at Kaon General.”

Wheeljack raised an optic ridge. Ratchet gave the femme a long hard look. Then he nodded. “Reckon mostly I am,” he grunted. “But in this instance – I’m calling in some - _colleagues._ ”


End file.
